


all we do is hide away

by jennycaakes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (Platonically) - Freeform, Canon Compliant, Coping, Friendship, Light Angst, M/M, Making Out, Platonic Kissing, this got out of hand, who even knows really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 19:29:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6164023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennycaakes/pseuds/jennycaakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miller and Bellamy pass time by getting drunk and making out. It confuses a lot of people, including Miller.</p><p>Miller/Bellamy, Miller/Monty, Lowkey Bellarke and Bellina, Canon!verse</p>
            </blockquote>





	all we do is hide away

**Author's Note:**

> This is a MESS. It started off based on my headcanon that Bellamy found out Miller had a boyfriend because they got drunk and made out once, and it turned into this because I'm trash. TRASH I TELL YOU. Hope you like it!!

Miller watched as Bellamy licked his lips after taking the shot of alcohol and lowering the glass back to the counter. It was late. A curfew had been enforced since everyone had returned from Mount Weather and they really should’ve been in their quarters but most of the adults knew that the delinquents were suffering and when they saw them out they let it be. Bellamy scrubbed his hand over his face and sighed, reaching for the bottle to fill his shot glass up another time.

“You want another?” Bellamy asked as he poured his drink, and Miller shook his head. They’d already almost finished off the bottle and he was certainly drunk enough without needing another shot. “I’ll take one for you,” he murmured.

Miller snorted and watched as Bellamy did just that. First a shot of his own, then one for Miller. Bellamy scrubbed at his face again, shaking his head slightly as they sat in the silence of the makeshift bar. Most of the other delinquents had retreated to bed (Octavia uncomfortable in her quarters in the Ark-remnants but staying with Lincoln anyway until an official peace could be set up with the Grounders, Harper and Monroe sharing a room and a bed, Monty by himself in a tent outside of the leftover Ark refusing to room with anyone while Jasper shut him out, Raven still healing in Med Bay) but Bellamy and Miller could never manage to make it there without a drink.

“You thinking about her again?” Miller asked, and Bellamy visibly tensed. “Forget it,” he murmured quickly, not wanting to upset his friend.

“No, it’s fine,” Bellamy said with a sigh. He was always sighing these days. They survived the Mountain Men, taken down the enemy, and he was always sighing. He bore a burden Miller couldn’t understand completely, couldn’t relate to. “I just worry about her.”

Clarke. It had been weeks since she vanished into the wilderness without so much as a goodbye (except to Monty and Bellamy as they lingered at the gates). Abby had arranged scouting teams the second she was on her feet again and they’d all come up flat.

“She’s fine,” Miller said. “She’s _Clarke_.”

Again Bellamy sighed. “Yeah.”

Miller stared at Bellamy with an ache in his chest that didn’t want to go anywhere. He sighed too before reaching for the bottle and pouring himself another shot. Upon seeing this Bellamy smiled, a ghost of the smile he once had but a smile nonetheless. It was bright enough to cause a heat to creep up Miller’s neck, a heat he vehemently ignored whenever Bellamy was involved. When it came to Bellamy with his curly dark hair and annoyingly perfect freckles, Miller couldn’t deny he was physically attracted to his friend. There was no point in it. Bellamy was the whole damn package. But physical attraction was where it ended, there was nothing more than that.

“C’mon,” Miller said after he lowered his glass. “I’ll walk you to your quarters so you don’t trip over your own two feet.”

Bellamy’s smile shifted as he chuckled. “We’re pathetic,” he said as he wobbled to his feet.

“Speak for yourself,” Miller responded, causing Bellamy to laugh another time. Bellamy swung his arm over Miller’s shoulder as they moved from the bar, leaving the almost-empty bottle and their dirty glasses behind while they headed to the hallway. Bellamy was heavy and his footsteps were dragging but they made it to Bellamy’s quarters (across the hall from Octavia’s) easily enough. “Can I crash here?” Miller asked as he shouldered the door open.

“Still weird being back with your dad?” Bellamy asked, and Miller made a noise of agreement. “What’s mine is yours,” Bellamy said sincerely, gesturing to his large empty quarters. He kicked off his shoes as Miller shut the door carefully, preparing for another night on Bellamy’s lumpy couch. Miller watched as he stumbled again, a goofy-drunken smile coming to Bellamy’s face another time. He looked up brightly in Miller’s direction with a laugh, which Miller responded to by shaking his head. “You know you love me,” Bellamy said as he used a table to balance himself while he got his shoe off.

“Sure, Blake.”

“I’m your best friend,” Bellamy pointed out, to which Miller rolled his eyes. Bellamy’s head tipped back in a laugh, “Come _on_ , Miller! Admit it!”

“No.”

“You’re the worst drunk ever,” Bellamy said, his voice still high. At that Miller allowed himself a smile which made Bellamy’s smile even brighter, a look that Miller wished he had more often. “Hey,” Bellamy said as Miller pushed himself away from the door, moving to the couch to peel off his boots. “Make out with me.”

A laugh escaped Miller before he could even process it. “Excuse me?”

“Jesus Christ, Miller,” Bellamy said as he leaned against the table. This was the Bellamy that Miller first met. The slightly-cocky but not-overly-arrogant Bellamy who knew he was attractive and knew what he wanted. There was a smile on his face and a dark look in his eyes. This was early-dropship Bellamy, an unstoppable fire who intoned _whatever the hell we want_. “Make out with me.”

Miller stared at him a beat longer before licking his lips and grinning. “What for?” he asked as he returned to taking off his boots.

Bellamy asked, “There has to be a reason?” Miller couldn’t wipe the grin from his face, and even Bellamy looked pleased. “Friends make out with each other all the time,” Bellamy said.

Miller laughed another time. “What kind of friends do _you_ have?” he asked. Bellamy stepped away from the table he was leaning against and walked over to Miller, his footsteps still heavy from the alcohol. Bellamy dropped onto the couch next to him, so close that their legs were touching. “Fine,” Miller said, as though he was making some sort of definitive decision. “But platonically.”

“Platonically,” Bellamy repeated.

“Because I have a boyfriend.”

Bellamy shrugged. “Deal.” One of Miller’s boots was untied but still on, but it was quickly forgotten as Bellamy leaned in Miller’s direction. It was clear by the way their mouths met that they were both drunk, their lips both pulled in smiles as they fumbled to get a good rhythm going. One of Miller’s hands swung up to curve around Bellamy’s jaw, sliding until he could tangle his fingers into Bellamy’s hair. Miller tried kicking off his boot as Bellamy tugged him in his direction, pulling him back so Miller practically fell on top of him. “Wait,” Bellamy broke away, a dark eyebrow arching. “You have a boyfriend?”

“Somewhere,” Miller murmured as he licked his lips. Probably. If he was still alive.

“Did you and Monty get together without telling me? Or—”

“Hey, fuck you,” Miller said at the mention of Monty, reaching for Bellamy arched in response to Miller leaning down another time. Monty was another subject entirely, another aching subject that made Miller feel like there were rocks in his stomach that wanted to keep him from going anywhere, especially considering Miller still had a boyfriend.

But this, whatever the hell this was that was happening, made him forget about it. Bellamy’s mouth was wet and warm and fuck—now Miller understood why girls were lining up outside of his tent when they’d first landed. He was doing something with his tongue, gliding it along Miller’s lip before slipping into his mouth and groaning. It was a sound so raw Miller jerked his hips forward, causing Bellamy to groan another time, and all thought of aches and pains and wars were gone.

* * *

Miller woke up in Bellamy’s bed the next morning with his pants still on (which was a good sign) and Bellamy drooling onto the pillow next to him. He scrubbed his face and thought through the drunken haze of the night before, smirking when he remembered the whine that Bellamy made when Miller’s hands eased under his shirt.

Yeah, he certainly didn’t mind making out with Bellamy.

Miller nudged him hard to wake him up, causing Bellamy to squint into the bright light of the room. “You’ve got to get to training soon,” Miller said as Bellamy rubbed at his eyes.

“You figured you’d treat someone a little nicer after spending the night with them,” Bellamy murmured as Miller practically kicked him out of bed. Bellamy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and yawned loudly. “This is _my_ room,” Bellamy said as he sat up and stretched. Miller watched from his spot as the muscles in his back shifted. “If anyone should leave it’s you,” he said with warm teasing in his voice.

Miller shrugged. “You work. I don’t.”

“Fine, fine.” Bellamy strode over to his closet and started fishing around for his training clothes. “So you have a boyfriend?” Bellamy asked. Miller tried not to roll his eyes. Because of course after probably one of the best make out sessions Miller’s ever had, that’s what Bellamy wants to talk about. “What station?”

“Agro.”

Bellamy spun to face Miller, both of his eyebrows high on his forehead. “You sure you’re not dating Monty?”

“Fuck _off_ , Blake,” Miller tossed back. “His name’s Bryan. And I’m like, 87 percent certain that he’s dead.”

“That’s 13 percent chance he’s still alive,”

“You’re the hopeful one,” Miller said waving his hand dismissively. “Not me.”

Bellamy turned back to continue looking for his clothes. “So not Monty,” Bellamy said another time as though still trying to get confirmation. Miller groaned, burying his face under one of Bellamy’s pillows.

* * *

It became a regular occurrence.

It only happened when they were drunk, which was fine considering everything was _easier_ when they were drunk. And it was nice. Bellamy had a great mouth (“So do you,” he’d said to Miller late one night) and talented hands and for however long they were kissing Miller wasn’t thinking about anything else.

Like the way he’d crushed someone’s skull against a wall to save his friends from getting shot. Or the time he’d watched a woman bubble and burn in radiated air. Or the way he felt when he looked at Monty.

Bellamy was Bellamy. Fire and distraction.

Miller didn’t think anyone noticed but one day after sparring with Lincoln for a good hour Octavia pulled Miller out of the gym with a frown. Miller barely had time to grab a shirt and used it to wipe the sweat from his forehead as Octavia cornered him, jabbing her finger into his bare chest.

“Are you fucking my brother?” she asked.

Miller snorted. “If only I could be so lucky.”

Octavia’s frown deepened. “I’m serious, Miller,” she said.

“And so am I,” he tossed back. After finishing wiping his face he stepped back so Octavia’s hand fell and then he tugged on his shirt. “No, I’m not fucking your brother. What’s it to you, anyway?”

“Monty asked.” Miller’s heart sank in his chest, confusion and—was that guilt?—swirling inside of him. He looked away as Octavia placed her hands on her hips. “You’re in his room every night.”

“I have a talented mouth,” Miller tossed back. Octavia scoffed. “I’d offer you a chance to find out but you’re not really my type.”

“Ha-ha.”

Miller shrugged, looking back up. “It’s platonic. You can stop pissing your pants.”

“Did you just call making out with my brother, ‘ _platonic’_?” she asked, and Miller shrugged again. Octavia rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You’re an idiot,” she said, and Miller shrugged another time.

* * *

They were in the bar when Monty found them.

It was hilarious, really. At least it could’ve been if it wasn’t for the shock and disappointment on Monty’s face following discovering Bellamy and Miller in a dark corner pinned against one another. Bellamy was laughing into Miller’s throat at a smart remark Miller was making (“No, I swear to God Octavia thought we were fucking–she pulled me out of training to ask.”) as his lips left purple bruises when they both heard a gasp so loud they startled apart.

Bellamy spun around quickly and Miller’s eyes stumbled until they found Monty, standing there with his mouth slightly open. None of them spoke for a minute before Monty nodded his head once and said, “Alright.” His voice was so high and un-Monty-like that a laugh escaped Miller before he’d even completely walked away, even despite the betrayal of sorts written on his face.

And then Bellamy’s snorts turned into laughter too, and then he and Miller were tucked in the corner laughing hysterically to one another, their hands on one another’s shoulders to hold each other up.

“Monty fucking Green,” Miller forced out through strangled breaths as he wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. The alcohol had made all of the weight in his shoulders lift so there was nothing but humor in this situation. They laughed until their stomachs hurt, until they couldn’t breathe. Because of course it would be Monty fucking Green to see them.

“I’m sorry,” Bellamy finally forced out as his chuckles started to die out. “I know you…” he trailed off, turning to look in the direction where Monty had walked away. Miller arched an eyebrow when Bellamy turned back to look at him, waiting for more elaboration. “Monty,” Bellamy said simply.

Heat spiked in Miller’s chest.

He reached out and fisted Bellamy’s shirt, tugging his friend back to him fiercely and capturing his lips at once. _Can’t think about Monty_ , Miller reminded himself. Because Monty wasn’t platonic. Whatever he felt for Monty was definitely not platonic. So he focused on Bellamy’s mouth, on kissing Bellamy, trying not to think of the boy who walked away.

* * *

Sitting in the hangar with Monty and Raven the next day, Miller hungover from drinking the night before, was incredibly awkward. Raven worked with her wires and Miller attempted to page through an old paperback they found in one of the empty rooms on the Ark and Monty tinkered on some sort of walkie-talkie.

“So,” Raven finally said loudly. Her voice was too piercing for Miller’s headache and he winced. “You and Bellamy are fucking?”

Miller allowed himself to snort before answers. “Octavia’s a shitty source,” he sneered.

Raven’s eyes flickered to Monty before she arched an eyebrow in Miller’s direction. “Nice try,” Raven said, “but she’s not my source.”

Monty focused absolutely all of his attention on whatever it was that was in his hands, and Miller’s eyes shifted to Monty as well. When he looked back at Raven she shrugged slightly. “It’s platonic,” Miller muttered, looking back down at his book.

“You’re having platonic sex?” Raven asked.

“We make out,” Miller said, waving his hand.

“How do you _platonically_ make out with someone?” she asked with a scoff. “That’s like, not a thing.”

“It is if you’re both drunk and lonely,” Miller responded lowly, his eyes focused on the page in front of him without reading it. “I’ve got a dead boyfriend somewhere and he’s got a missing Clarke so God forbid we have a bit of fun.”

Both Raven and Monty stilled. “You’ve got a dead boyfriend?” Raven asked.

“I mean, probably.”

“Since when have you had a boyfriend?” Monty asked.

“Since we lived in space,” Miller answered. “But he’s from Agro and we haven’t found Agro, so.”

“God, you’re dark,” Raven muttered.

“You’re dating someone from _Agro?_ ” Monty asked.

“Well not if he’s dead,” Miller muttered.

Raven shook her head with a frown. “I’m from Agro,” Monty said, his voice soft. Miller finally looked up at Monty who looked… confused. But, whatever, Miller had been feeling confused for what felt like forever when it came to his attraction to Monty. “You don’t think it’s out there?” Monty asked.

“I’ve never been an optimist, Green,” Miller said. He didn’t want to talk about his dead boyfriend anymore. “Bellamy’s hot, I’m hot. Makes sense.” Raven snorted and went back to working on whatever she was working on, and Monty looked less… upset. The way Monty was staring at him, his lips slightly parted, made Miller feel that Bellamy-confidence. “Interested?” Miller asked.

Monty’s face turned a shade pinker but he laughed a little. “You wish,” he murmured.

 _Yeah_ , Miller thought with a sigh. He did.

* * *

A month and two weeks after Bellamy and Miller started making out to pass the time, Bellamy got a date. By then Miller knew Bellamy liked it best when Miller sucked on his collarbones and the feel of Bellamy’s scruff across Miller’s throat.

“So,” Bellamy said.

They were laying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, alcohol fading from their systems, both of their mouths swollen. “So,” Miller echoed.

“I don’t want this to be weird.”

Miller snorted. “Don’t make it weird, then.”

“Because you’re my best friend,” Bellamy added carefully. Miller had to stop himself from rolling his eyes, listening as Bellamy’s voice shifted into Speech Mode. “And I enjoy making out with you as much as the next guy.” Miller propped himself up on his elbow so he could look down at Bellamy. His nose wrinkled slightly as he turned to look at Miller, clearly hesitating.

“Don’t worry,” Miller said with a grin. “I’m not in love with you.”

“Thank fucking God,” Bellamy said, laughing. “I have a date.” Miller’s grin widened and Bellamy looked away, his smile too bright. “It’s been awhile since I…” he trailed off, and Miller knew.

Since he felt like he could. Since he felt like himself. Since Bellamy felt as though things were normal enough that he could go on a date. There’s a peace now between the Grounders and the Sky People and no one’s hunting them down. They have a chance to breathe. To grow.

“Glad to hear it,” Miller said.

Bellamy turned to look at him again. “Your turn.”

“My turn?” Miller asked. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well you’re either holding on hope for your Agro boyfriend,” Bellamy said, “or you’ve moved on.” Oh no. Miller knew where he was going with this. “Monty…”

“Don’t,” Miller stopped him. “ _Don’t_.” Bellamy groaned and collapsed backwards again. “He’s—no.”

“Bullshit.”

Miller let out a short breath and closed his eyes tightly.

* * *

The night of Bellamy’s date with Raven’s friend Gina, Miller ended up back at the bar. He wasn’t drinking because Bellamy had a date, Miller was thrilled for his friend. But Miller still needed to drink to fall asleep, and he was still lonely, and there was still the heaviness of the things he’d done and seen echoing in his mind. He’d only had one full drink when Monty arrived, settling onto the stool beside him, looking just as tired as Miller felt. He motioned for a drink and the barkeep at the time poured him one quickly. Monty held the glass in his hand for a few minutes before taking a drink.

“I hear Bellamy has a date,” Monty said, and Miller tipped his head forward. “Jealous?”

Miller laughed despite himself. “Not likely. I’m not sure anyone could deny that Bellamy’s attractive, but we don’t click. Not that way.” Miller motions for another drink as well. “He’s a fun kisser, is all. And we deserve some fun, I guess.”

Monty was quiet for another moment. “But you have a boyfriend?” he asked. “How’s that play into this?”

“It doesn’t,” Miller said. “Because Bellamy and I were just passing the time.”

“So it doesn’t count as cheating?” Monty asked.

Miller’s chest felt tight. He missed Bryan, he did. But every passing day it was harder to pretend that he might be out there. “Not to me,” he finally said. Because with Bellamy, there weren’t _feelings_ involved. And to Miller, it was the feelings that mattered. And besides, it was just kissing. It’s not like they went down on each other. “And I’m sure he’d understand,” Miller added. Bryan. If he was still alive. Of course Miller would be honest with him. _Sometimes my friend and I would get drunk and make out, but that’s all it was_. And Miller knew Bryan, he _would_ understand.

“Well,” Monty said after lowering his glass. This felt all too familiar, like an echo of the night he and Bellamy first ended up with one another. Monty looked toward Miller, something bright in his eyes. “Bellamy’s otherwise occupied,” Monty said. Something twisted in Miller’s gut. He knew where this was going before Monty even opened his mouth again. “And I hear you platonically make out with people.”

 _No. No, no, no._ He couldn’t let this go anywhere.

“I thought you weren’t interested,” Miller managed to respond. Because, fuck, he wanted to.  

“People can change their minds,” Monty said. Miller watched as Monty licked his lips before his mouth curved into a soft smile. “Drunk and lonely,” Monty said, echoing Miller’s words from the other day. “Hmm?” There was a lump in Miller’s throat that wasn’t going anywhere, and he shook his head no ever-so-slightly. “No?” Monty asked, looking more amused than disappointed. “Not your type?” he asked.

“No, you are,” Miller muttered. “But it wouldn’t be platonic.”

At that Miller knocked back the rest of his drink in two gulps before placing the glass down on the counter and moving to his feet. He’d barely made it ten steps when he felt Monty’s hand circling around his wrist, pulling him to a stop. Miller turned back to the boy with a sigh and found Monty looking at him, his lips parted slightly.

His voice was low as he asked, “What do you mean?”

Miller’s eyes flickered from Monty to the bar and he shook his head slightly. Not here. He didn’t want to do this here. Monty dropped Miller’s wrist and tipped his head, motioning for Miller to follow him. And he could’ve walked the other way, he really could’ve, but Miller followed him anyway. Monty led him to his tent, empty and bare as though no one actually lived there, and settled on the edge of his mattress. He looked up at Miller lingering in the door way and motioned for him to continue what he’d said back at the bar.

Miller turned, looking out of the tent, and sighed before turning back. “Monty,” he started, but stopped. “It’s just…”

Monty looked small on the edge of the mattress. “You think it could still be out there,” Monty said. “Agro Station.” Miller pursed his lips and sighed again. “You say you don’t think so, but you do. Or you hope.”

“I don’t know,” Miller muttered. It was a constant battle in his head, the possibility that Agro could be out there, that Bryan could be out there. Miller shook his head, trying to get his thoughts to settle. But they never would, not until he knew for sure whether Bryan was alive or not. “I don’t _know_.”

Monty leaned backwards on his palms. “And that would be cheating,” Monty supplied. “Doing with me what you did with Bellamy?”

Miller wished he could lean backwards against a wall, but the tent was too flimsy. “Don’t make me do this,” Miller tried to find his voice. “Monty with you, it…” he trailed off and sighed once more. “It wouldn’t be fair to him. If he’s still out there. That’s not who I am.”

Nodding in response, Monty sat up a little straighter. “But if there wasn’t maybe a boyfriend somewhere…?”

“It would be even less than platonic,” Miller said with a final sigh, lifting his hand to scrub at his face. “And I want to,” he nearly burst, dropping his hand. “God, Monty, I want you. But if he’s—I couldn’t _do_ that. Even if I thought he was dead, even if I think—I just—I don’t _know_.”

Monty looked so hopeful and so hopeless at the same time and Miller wanted to climb into his small cot beside him and kiss the living daylights out of him.

“What if we pretend?” Monty asked. “Just once? That it doesn’t mean anything?”

“I’m not that good of an actor,” Miller breathed. He took the few steps across the tent and settled down next to Monty as he licked his lips, acutely aware of the fact that Monty watched the movement with dark eyes. And then Monty licked his lips and Miller felt all of the resolve inside of him shattering. “Just once?” he rasped.

Monty nodded, and that was that.

Miller might have had a few drinks in him but that feeling was nothing compared to how it felt when Monty’s mouth met his. Unlike that first night with Bellamy where it took them some time to find a rhythm, Miller and Monty moved like the currents of the ocean. Pushing and pulling one another as though they’d been doing it since the beginning of time. Miller’s hands were in Monty’s hair, and Monty’s hands were fisting Miller’s shirt and his lips were wet and hot and there was nothing else to think about but this moment. It felt infinite, it felt perfect. Making out with Bellamy was a distraction, this was and endpoint. This was something someone works their life for. A feeling so warm it pushed at the very core of Miller’s existence.

There was a feeling of rushing the whole thing but when they realized there was no point of that the kissing slowed. Monty leaned toward Miller in a way that pressed him down onto the mattress, gentle but firm. Monty’s long fingers trailed across Miller’s cheeks as Monty settled between his hips, propping himself up over the boy he was kissing. Every time their mouths broke apart there were gasps, silent cries of more, _more_.

Miller wasn’t sure how long it was before Monty pulled back and rested his forehead against Miller’s. Both of their chests were heaving for air. Even in the dim lighting of the tent, Monty’s eyes were dark and his lips were swollen. Monty spent a moment catching his breath as he stared at Miller’s lips and then he leaned in again, but Miller rested his hand against Monty’s chest to keep him at a distance.

“Just once,” Miller reminded him.

“Nate,” Monty exhaled. One of his hands was on Miller’s shoulder, gripping him fiercely, and his fingers curled now in desperation. “I _want_ you,” Monty said. Miller’s eyes fell shut. He wanted him too. But feeling like this for Monty, this need to kiss him again, this desire to rip the clothes from his body and leave them scattered on the floor, it wasn’t right. Monty dipped but only so their noses bumped, nothing more. “God,” he choked out, “what now?”

“I don’t know,” Miller admitted. “We keep looking for Agro.”

“And then what?” Monty pressed. “If he’s okay?”

If Bryan’s okay.

“We figure it out then,” Miller murmured. Monty nodded and Miller arched up, tipping his head so he could kiss Monty on the corner of his mouth. Just once. One final time before they pretended like this didn’t happen. Monty sighed at the press of Miller’s lips and then pulled back, shifting off of him so they could both sit up. “I should go,” Miller said gently, and Monty nodded another time. After murmuring a reluctant goodbye, Miller left Monty alone in his tent.

* * *

Miller was on Bellamy’s couch when he returned home from his date that night. He had a brilliant smile on his face and he looked  _bright_ . Like he knew now that things could be okay, that things were going to be okay. He couldn’t stop grinning as he said hello to Miller, as he kicked his shoes off, as he climbed into his cot. Bellamy’s grin was permanent.

“It was… nice,” was the best description Bellamy would give, too stuck in a whirlwind of hope to elaborate. “What about you?” he asked after the lights had been shut off. “How was your night?”

Miller hesitated. “It was okay,” he said. Part of him wanted to tell Bellamy what had happened, the other part wanted to pretend that it hadn’t happened at all. There was no chance Miller would get the taste of Monty’s mouth out of his head anytime soon. “Hey,” Miller said to the dark room. Bellamy hummed in response, quiet. “You’re my best friend, you know,” Miller said.

A soft laugh escaped Bellamy. “I know,” he answered. “Don’t worry, Miller,” Bellamy added. “We’ll find your guy.”

Miller swallowed his sigh of confliction and tried to close his eyes and will himself to sleep. He could worry about it in the morning.


End file.
